The Lyrical Matt And Mello
by SlvrSoleAlchmst1
Summary: Basically, I've taken loads of song lyrics and poetry and used them to inspire very short, interpretive pieces.
1. Intro, and Breakfast in Bed

**The Introduction**

(aka, the fancier-than-usual author note)

"_The Lyrical Matt And Mello."_ Sounds like it should be a musical or something, doesn't it?

Music has been the number one inspiration for almost every Matt/Mello story I've written. I've got a whole playlist for them in my iTunes (4.8 hours worth of stuff!), and though I never listen to music while I write, somehow the beat gets in my blood with these guys. A song puts me in a mood, which leads to an idea, which leads to a story that usually happens to involve Matt and Mello. I don't tend to weave the lyrics directly into the text much, but come on. You guys have seen me use music to some degree. (Rammstein? _Tristan und Isolde?_) Lately I've realized that I've written down more lyrics than I can keep track of. The obsession has recently extended to poetry, so there will be poems in here as well. It's all pretty inspiring stuff that I know I can use. Hence, I'm putting together a series of short drabbles that were influenced by songs and poetry. What you'll get in each chapter is lyrics first, and then my brief interpretations via Matt and Mello. For the most part, things will be short, sweet, and self-explanatory. Hopefully everyone can get some music and culture out of this! What I aim to highlight in this collection are the lyrics, anyway — not my own work.

Oh! Disclaimers. Obviously, songs and poems will be credited to their proper artists. Also, I don't guarantee that you will like the songs I've used here if you download and listen to them out of curiosity. Everyone's taste is different. Plus, for this fic, it's all about lyrics and not so much the sound.

"_The Lyrical Matt And Mello."_ God, I should put them in dance shoes, twirl them 'round a stage in leotards with flowing skirts….

* * *

**~Lyric 01~**

_If you take a step, I will make you sure that you take the next_

_If you tell a lie, I'll just nod my head, yeah, I'll let it slide_

_Cause you woke me up, and there's birds outside, and I still feel drunk_

_But I'm glad you did, cause last night you weren't making that much sense._

_You said you wanna die, now you say you wanna live_

_You said you loved me after forty-five minutes_

_If this is all a game can you just say it is?_

_I'll do it anyway, so it makes no difference_

_We should order up, wash the wine out of the coffee cup_

_They got bread and fruit, there's probably not much else for you._

_We can lay around, you can kiss me 'til the maids come kick us out._

_It's eleven now so make every second count_

_But back in New York they can't ever find this out_

_There are things we do, that we're really not allowed_

_We can say anything, but we just can't say it loud._

_I hope you always find someone to take you home_

_To put you into bed, kiss your cheek, and check your pulse_

_Make sure you're still breathing, with their hand up to your nose_

_I wish that could be me, but it's just not possible._

—**DNTEL, "Breakfast in Bed"**

* * *

The hotel room buzzed in the quiet.

A bee farm, Matt thought drowsily. He rolled over. Low, steady, and mesmerizing — hypnotic humming. Like they were napping on the grass in the sunshine, while all around them, honey glazed the combs… tessellated little labyrinths, those combs, concealing sweetness thick and amber and dripping….

Matt cracked an eye open, and the digital clock by the bedside clicked to 6:04 am. The buzzing continued. He sat up.

Hangovers gave him the weirdest dreams.

Mello stirred, but didn't wake. Matt squinted at the lines on the carpet; the sun made streaks between the slats of the blinds. He followed the golden bars up, up off the floor back onto the bed, trailing them to where they zig-zagged over Mello's sleeping form. Mello's hair was fanned across the pillow, caught in the light like a prism. Instead of rainbow, Matt gazed at a honey color. Honey blond.

_Mello leaned forward, catching Matt's lips in a wild lock, and his hair fell against Matt's cheek. Golden blond, honey blond beneath the naked light bulb, and Matt's fingers tangled in it long enough to tug him closer—_

Matt shook his head.

They never should have. But oh, he'd wanted to. And Mello… Mello had _needed_ to — he'd _said_ so — but it wasn't really something that could last. Matt figured that feelings lasted only as long as people lasted.

The brightness of the sun on Mello's hair made Matt squint. He looked away and swung his feet onto the floor, dragging a hand down his face. He leaned forward to put weight on his legs and stand up.

Fingers, lean and powerful, snaked out to grip his wrist. "Matt…." The droning of the bees hummed beneath the timbre of Mello's voice.

Matt sank back onto the bed.


	2. Gone, Gone

**~Lyric 02~**

_Gone, gone from New York City_

_Where you gonna go with a head that empty?_

_Gone, gone from New York City_

_Where you gonna go with a heart that dark?_

_Down, down to Mexico City_

_Caught myself a lady, she'll know how to treat me_

_Down, down to Mexico City_

_Caught myself a lady to lay me down,_

_Lay me down_

_All my friends want you to know_

_I'm gonna miss you when I go_

_But I'll see you down your road_

_Meet me at the station way down low,_

_Way down low_

—**Conor Oberst, "NYC-Gone, Gone"**

**

* * *

**"Fuck you, Mello," Matt spat, jamming a cigarette into his mouth.

Mello sneered and yanked the hood of his jacket over his head. "_And _you smoke too much," he hissed. He whirled around and stormed for the door.

Matt could tell the argument was over, but his temper still burned volcanic-hot. "As if your list of my shortcomings wasn't long enough already, asshole," he hollered after Mello, his voice hoarse. He raked a hand violently through his hair. "You can't fucking _do_ this to me."

Mello halted in his tracks. He didn't turn around, but Matt watched his shoulders stiffen beneath the leather. For a moment, he thought Mello was going to rocket into another tirade, but he didn't.

It seemed his pinky finger twitched, but that was all.

Matt flicked his Zippo open and inhaled. A car horn blared somewhere outside.

"So… where are you going to go?" he asked Mello after a while, when it became clear that they had reached some sort of impasse.

"Hal says that we should go south."

Matt's cigarette took on a sour flavor. "You're going to fuck Near's concubine until both of you pass out, aren't you." He had hoped it would leave his mouth a question, but somehow, he knew better.

The answer he got was flat. "If I damn well please."

Matt flicked his ashes to the floor, frowning. "Chicks like that don't heel, you know."

"What the hell does _that_ mean?"

"Maybe I'll take the weekend off, too," Matt murmured, ignoring the inquiry. Mello's fingers twitched again, barely noticeable. "Maybe I'm sick of this god damned city."

Mello moved then. He readjusted his hood and walked slowly toward the door. "You aren't sick of the city," he whispered. He turned the knob and slipped outside. Matt listened to the click of the door closing, and the silence after the blond was gone.

"Fucking bastard," Matt breathed.


	3. Song of the Drunkard

**~Lyric 03~**

_I don't know what it was I wanted to hold onto._

_I kept losing it and I didn't know what it was_

_Except I wanted to hold onto it. The drink kept it in,_

_So at least for a while it felt as if I had it,_

_Whatever it was. But it was the drink that had it_

_And held it and had hold of me too. Asshole._

_Now I'm a card in the drink's hand while he keeps smiling_

_Like he doesn't give a shit in a game that's going badly,_

_And when death wins he'll scratch his scabby neck_

_With the greasy card and throw me down on the table_

_And then I'll just be another one of the cards_

_In the pile on the fucking table. So what the fuck._

—**Rilke (translated by David Ferry), "Song of the Drunkard"**

**

* * *

**"Mello. Shit, Mello — you can't even _walk. _Give me that fucking bottle."

Matt made a swipe for his drink, but Mello hefted it high out of the hacker's reach. "Paws off," he said, slurring it like it was all one word, the end of _paws_ an elongated Z sound that accentuated his listlessness. He stumbled and caught himself on the back of a kitchen chair.

Matt stood cursing their luck to one side, tugging at his goggle strap a bit harder than necessary. Mello found the redhead's distress mesmerizing.

So he watched.

"You fucking prick," Matt said helplessly, and Mello bent over then, laughing. "It's not _funny_. You said we needed all our wits for this, and you've been piss drunk for three nights in a row."

Mello straightened lazily and licked his lips. Through the unsteady fog of his favorite vodka, it registered that Matt was as stiff as a piece of foam board. He maybe would snap.

"'S not 'zactly three days yet," Mello specified carefully. "'Smore like two n' three quaa— shit, two and three _quar-ters_." His pronunciation sucked. Matt was dead silent, so Mello thought a moment and added a clarifier. "...bastard." He flipped Matt the finger.

Matt closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Mello watched him sucking in a deep breath and took another pull from his vodka bottle.

"Mello." Matt's voice rumbled low, tempestuous. Mello could feel himself responding, and the liquor in his veins flared to life more strongly. He turned away from Matt and chuckled darkly at the situation, his fingers digging hard into the back of the chair he clung to.

There was a very strained pause.

"Do you plan to stop long enough to track down Amane, at least?" the hacker asked at last.

Mello avoided Matt's stare. "Maybe," he slurred. Then, an instant later, "Maybe not."

The delicate lull that had formed collapsed, devastated.

Matt slammed his foot down and his voice reached the higher decibels. "God fucking _damn_ it, Mello!" Mello swirled his vodka around the bottle's insides without comment, wiggling his pinky finger in his ear and squinting, wondering if he could muster the gall to laugh at Matt's tantrum.

The hacker released a violent hiss and took off for the living room.

Mello put his bottle down. "Matt." He hated himself for the way it came, husky and desperate.

Matt halted so fast he nearly tripped himself, and Mello thought it was a peculiar reaction, considering how quickly Matt had whirled to flee a second ago. "Wh… just… _fuck_, Mello." Matt was rubbing his temples beneath his goggles, taking short, uncontrolled breaths. "What?"

Mello exhaled, a sigh that made Matt shudder just a little. "…Dunno," he murmured thickly. He felt nauseous.

Matt swallowed and jammed a hand in his vest pocket. "Bullshit," he choked out.

Mello's tongue moved sluggish and heavy. "We're fucked." He drew out the F sound and punctuated it with a thump of his fist to the back of his chair.

They stared at each other for a long second, until Matt blinked and looked away.

"Call me if you ever get sober," he said, and he left Mello in the kitchen.

* * *

_A/N: My god I fucking love this one._


	4. The License Plate

**~Lyric 04~**

_On the way back from the hospital we saw_

_A message on the license plate of a car._

_It said GOD HAS. Has what?_

_Decided finally what to do about it?_

_The answer to the question that you asked?_

_The whole world in His Hands? Fucked up? Again?_

_Apologized? Failed to apologize?_

_The car went on its way ahead of us._

—**David Ferry, "The License Plate"**

**

* * *

**

Matt knew that Mello could see the license plate around the bandages. Even through his single Cyclops eye — the one that wasn't covered, the one half swollen shut, with the bruise all ripe like a plum — Mello had been able to read it, and this Matt registered. He swallowed, hard. He should have asked the nurse to sedate Patient Mello for the ride home. For his own good. Matt bit his lip until it stung. The road slid past beneath them, meter by meter.

It didn't take long.

"Matt."

"No." Matt kept his eyes on the road; his fingers fused themselves to the steering wheel. "Don't think about it."

The little car put on its break lights ahead of them, and the message drifted nearer. Matt contemplated toeing the gas and ramming into its smooth backside instead of slowing down.

"He's trying to tell me I'm going to burn, Matt."

Matt didn't know which god Mello was referring to.

Mello's breathing was labored and wheezy, and Matt found his own lungs didn't fare much better. It was all he could do not to rip the wheel off the dashboard and hurl it like a discus, forward through the windshield of the automobile that mocked them. Mello writhed — a squirm as feeble as an earthworm on hot pavement — and opened his mouth to say something else. "Shut up and sit still," Matt commanded, but Mello barely seemed to hear him.

A feverish string of mutters, and a weak jab toward the bumper of the ill-placed vehicle. "You can see it too. It's… _Matt, _I—"

Matt brought his foot down on the break like a hammer. He'd had it; reflex took control of his motion. The violent, rocking halt of their car elicited a gasp of pain from Mello. Horns screeched from all directions, upbraiding Matt for his shitty driving. He didn't care. He gripped the steering wheel until his breathing no longer came labored.

The white car with the message kept driving, rolling farther and farther away. Mello groaned.

"Just let it go, Mello," Matt whispered softly, but his hands were still shaking. "Let it go."


	5. Umbrella

**~Lyric 05~**

_You can turn the city upside-down if you want to_

_But it won't keep you dry_

_You can turn the city upside-down, like an umbrella_

_But it won't keep you dry_

_When you wrap yourself in a highway strip_

_Don't expect any warmth from it_

_All it is, is cold cement_

_You can turn the city upside-down, like an umbrella_

_But who knows what you'll find_

_Be careful if you try_

_You can turn the city upside-down if you want to_

_But it won't keep you dry_

—**DNTEL, "Umbrella"**

**

* * *

  
**

"I'm going out," Mello said. Matt's eyes jerked from the computer as his concentration was damaged. He put his cigarette down on the ashtray and squinted, combing the blond's image for a detail that would provide an explanation beyond _going out_. Mello was wrapped in the jacket with the feather collar, and—

"Are you wearing _eyeliner_?"

Dressed to kill. Matt gaped at the spectacle.

"I said I'm going out," Mello repeated. He stared at Matt, and Matt decided it was the only explanation he'd get. He turned back to his laptop and began typing codes, but not before yanking at his goggle strap and releasing a snort of disapproval.

Mello's footfalls moved toward the hall. "I won't be back," he announced, and Matt didn't glance up.

But he _did_ whack the spacebar harder than he meant to. "What exactly do you hope to _accomplish_ out there?" he asked.

The shrug was audible in Mello's voice. "I'm taking a drive so I can think." A pause. "And I'll probably hit the clubs."

"Besides that, I mean," Matt dismissed with an impatient wave. When Mello's silence refused to give way to an answer, he turned around again and clarified. "We're up to our necks almost drowning in this. Do you honestly think a night prowl will help?" He pulled his goggles down off his face. "Going out like that is in no way to conducive to problem solving." He rubbed his eyes and applied pressure until he saw colors, and then opened them to look at Mello.

"What fantastic advice." Mello's voice was deadly calm. His lips compressed into a fine line; his eyes popped even more beneath his dark make-up. The calm broke and erupted in a brutal snarl. "You sound just like Near."

The door banged hard enough to make Matt wince, and his computer screen flickered.

* * *

_A/N: Let's just say that I'm not happy with the way this one came out, but I posted it so I wouldn't get hung up on it. (Can't put my finger on what went wrong.)_


End file.
